


these two lanes will take us anywhere

by cherryvanilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Always Female Sam, Bittersweet, Car Sex, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, F/M, First Time, Pining, Pre-Series, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 06:46:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11572584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: “I think I’ll miss this the most,” Sam finally says.“What,” Dean asks flatly, not really wanting the answer.“Us, like this. Me drinking coffee while you smoke, nothing around us but space. It makes our lives seem so fuckin’ simple, so --”She cuts herself off but it’s okay, Dean’s finished the sentence already in his head.Normal.(Or: a guy, a girl, and a car. Three years, three defining moments. A love story in three acts.)





	these two lanes will take us anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Can't seem to tear myself away from Stanford Era fic, or Girl!Sam for that matter. Here's another fic largely inspired by music. Main credits go to Jimmy Eat World, Springsteen, Brand New, Built to Spill and OLP. 
> 
> Link to mix: https://8tracks.com/sometimesalways/these-two-lanes-will-take-us-anywhere
> 
> Graphic is here: http://monalisasnmadhatters.tumblr.com/post/163273470109/these-two-lanes-will-take-us-anywhere-mix-on

_I wanna see it_  
_when you find out what  
_ _comets, stars, and moons are all about_

____________________________________

The night Sam tells them she's going to Stanford is simultaneously the worst and best of Dean's life. 

The worst because he's losing her and she didn't even bother to give him the heads up. 

The best because he follows her out into the mild night air and drives them to see the stars one last time. 

It's only fitting that their first time together should be born out of something that was abruptly ending.

Dean's life was a comedy of errors.  
__________________________________

_i. Of all the things I think I’ll miss_

They started the stargazing around the same time Dad gave him the Impala. Sammy loved to look at them, especially if they were stuck in the middle of nowhere on a hunt. So they started making it a thing. They’d grab coffee from the closest place around (preferably Dunkin’ Donuts because Sam loved it for some reason) and drive out to a field. Dean would light up, because it was the only time he really could. Weird how his dad was so against cigarettes (“Those fuckin’ things will kill ya, Dean”) when they could die any time from the things they killed in the dark. 

They've been pretty settled the past six months, Dad actually giving into Sammy's pleas about staying in one place so she could finish up her senior year without being unrooted. Dean went with him on hunts sometimes, but it was mostly him and Sam playing house while she finished school and he worked at a local garage as a helper. 

After tonight’s coffee run, which is devoid of their usual jabs, Dean drives them out to “their spot”, the one Sam found one night while practicing her driving so she should get her license this summer. 

(Dean's been up against monsters and ghosts and vengeful spirits, but he's never been as scared as those few weekends with Sam behind the wheel of his baby.)

Sam's not so subtly wiping away a tear from her eye as she sips her coffee and Dean's tightly coiled with tension, his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel, wanting to say a million things to her and not knowing where to begin. 

It hurts. It fuckin’ hurts like hell that she didn’t tell him. Sam’s pulled away from him since she started high school, but he figured it was natural. Adolescence, hormones, whatever. Hell, he’d been a downright dickhead to everyone and everything the summer he was 14. But with Sam it ran deeper. She was defiant, headstrong, focused. She didn’t just fleetingly dream that her life could be something else -- like Dean had that one time when he was 15 and then quickly forced it down so far it couldn’t even be a pipe dream, much less a reality. No, Sammy aimed for the stars; probably why she loved them so much. 

In hindsight he should’ve seen this day coming light years away. In reality it blindsided the fuck outta him. 

“You think he’ll cool down?” Sam asks once Dean parks the car and kills the engine. Her voice is smaller than he remembers it sounding in a good long while. 

“You actually care?” His tone is cutting, sharp, no control over his mouth. Sam flinches and it feels good for about a second, before it feels shitty. 

“Sorry I’m not the model daughter he wanted, Dean,” Sam says, and it should be angry, sarcastic, but it comes out sounding as so fucking tired and older than her 18 years. She gets out of the car, slamming the door and now it’s Dean’s turn to flinch, has to bite back a comment about treating his baby with respect. 

“Sammy…” he starts as he follows her out, but she cuts him off, hoisting herself onto the still warm hood.

“Let’s be serious, he never wanted a daughter. I’m just a chore, a burden he’s gotta put up with. He should be happy I’m going.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and hops onto the metal next to her. “Bitch, bitch, bitch. Doesn’t the teen angst card get a little boring after a while?” He knocks his shoulder against hers to smooth the words a little. He’s feeling gutted, turned inside out, torn between wanting her to hurt over her decision to leave him -- them -- and wanting to scoop her into his arms like he hasn’t done since she was 13. 

“Whatever,” replies Sam, sighing heavily. “You know I’m right.” 

“Dad loves you.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“If he didn’t, he wouldn’t give a fuck about you leaving.” 

“Dad wants to control us, that’s all.” Sam leans back against the hood, the hem of her Foo Fighters t-shirt rising up. Dean hates them, so preferred Nirvana, remembers the first time Sam made him listen to them. “Like you and cigarettes,” she adds pointedly as he lights up. 

Dean pinches the bridge of his noise and takes a deep breath, tearing his eyes away from the smooth skin of his sister’s stomach. He takes a long drag, the burn of it feeling good -- like he deserves it -- before exhaling loudly. “I’m not arguing with you about this all night, Sammy.” 

“It’s Samantha.” 

“Whatever.” Dean lays back beside her, their heads nearly touching on the cool glass of the dash, and they stare up at the sky, falling silent. 

For a while it’s nothing but the sound of her small sips of coffee and his drags from his cigarette. 

“I think I’ll miss this the most,” Sam finally says. 

“What,” Dean asks flatly, not really wanting the answer. 

“Us, like this. Me drinking coffee while you smoke, nothing around us but space. It makes our lives seem so fuckin’ simple, so --” 

She cuts herself off but it’s okay, Dean’s finished the sentence already in his head. 

_Normal._

It’s all Sam wants. It’s all she ever fucking wanted. And he can’t give that to her. It kills him that there’s something he can’t do for her. 

A voice in the back of his head, way deep down past his pride and bruised ego, says there is. That he can let her go. 

So instead of replying with all the shit he’d normally say in a moment like this, Dean just says, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’ll miss this the most, too.” 

Sam’s head whips around to look at him, like she’s seeing him for the first time. Her coffee cup is sitting empty on the hood beside them and Dean’s already smoked three cigarettes.

“Dean…” 

She’s looking at him with wide, scared eyes and there’s so much there, so fucking much. When she puts her hand on his cheek, thumb sweeping against his jaw, there’s nothing he can do but close his eyes and shudder. 

Dean’s not stupid. He knows there’s been something simmering beneath the surface lately. It’s in the way Sam’s eyes linger on his bare chest just a fraction too long when they spar. It’s in the way he can’t help but notice the way her breasts move under her t-shirts now, or the long line of her legs as they stretch out on the couch, her bare feet brushing his thigh. 

He opens his eyes, meets her gaze. She’s beautiful, his whole fucking world, and this -- 

“This isn’t normal, Sam,” he whispers, putting the word right out there so neither of them can hide from it. 

Sam shakes her head. “I don’t care, Dean.” 

He snorts. “Yeah. You really do.” 

She leans closer, and now her hair is brushing against his face and their foreheads are pressed together and Dean needs to pull back now or be lost to this forever. “Not about this,” Sam says, barely a breath. And that both hurts and fills him with a small sliver of hope. 

She’s the one to close to distance between them, would have to be. He may be the bravest person in the world in Sam’s eyes, but really he’s just scared shitless. Of this, most of all. 

Her lips are soft as they come into contact with his, closed mouthed and almost innocent. He doesn't move, lets her navigate this. She applies a little more pressure and her mouth parts on a breath which changes it from innocent to something so not within that realm in the span of a second. Her fingers curve tighter around his jaw and her tongue inches out. Dean breaks then, moaning and twisting one hand in Sam's hair, sliding his tongue against hers, his other hand braced on the hood of his baby. The kiss is slow, almost tentative despite its deepness. He licks into Sam's mouth like he has all the time in the world, savors every moan, every whimper. Just the two of them out under the stars in a field away from the rest of the waking world. 

Their hands start to move, Sam's down his arms, his down her back. Before long he's got her laid out on the hood of the Impala and nothing has ever looked more right. He takes a moment just to stare at her, watches her flush and roll her eyes. "Don't be so cliche, Dean."

"Just lemme enjoy this for a moment," he says, lips twitching on a grin, and it could be any other day in their lives, given the way they're bantering but it's not. This is really happening. Sam laughs and pulls him down to her lips and Dean forgets about everything except the feel of her hands sliding down his back and his own slipping beneath her t-shirt, ghosting over her breasts, first the right, then the left. 

She lets out a sharp cry and he does it again, thumbing at her nipple over her bra and listening to her quick intake of breath. 

"Jesus, Sammy," he mutters, burying his face in her neck and kissing her everywhere, worshiping, reverent kisses because if this is all he's ever gonna get then he's gonna let her know what she damn well means to him. 

"Oh, God," she whispers and shivers in his arms, pulling him in tighter, closer. They rock together, his dick hard against her thigh, seeking friction through their jean clad hips.

Sam gets two handfuls of his ass and Dean groans loudly, biting at her neck. 

"Fuck, fuck I want..."

"Anything," Sam whispers. "God, Dean, do anything."

He wants to do everything is more like it, but he starts simple, gathering up her shirt, pushing up her bra, getting his hands and lips on her tits. It's like she was made for his mouth and he laps at her until she's wet all over, until her nipples are hard and dark, until her hands are twisting restlessly in his hair and she's letting out the best sounds he's ever heard. 

And once he's driven her crazy that way, he slides lower, kissing down her stomach, lingering around her navel. He undoes her jeans with shaking fingers and buries his nose against her underwear. Nothing fancy, just boyshorts but they're hotter than any thong that he's ever peeled off a girl's hips. 

Sam gasps above him as he pulls her jeans down further and licks at her through the fabric. He teases her like that, with his tongue and the pads of his fingers, her legs spreading out around him, until he can't torture either of them any longer and pulls her underwear aside just enough to get where he needs to be. 

Sam cries out when he licks her clit, her legs wrapping around his waist as much as she can manage with the way her jeans are still bunched up around her thighs. 

"Dean. Oh my god."

He smirks a little and tugs on her clit, grazing it with her teeth before rubbing at her with his fingers too. He keeps up the pressure of his fingers and tongue as she gets even wetter for him. He pulls back, slides one finger slowly in and focuses in on her clit again. She's thrashing above him and so tight around him and Dean thinks this might be her first time and has no idea what to do with that. 

"Sammy," he says, pulling back and staring up at her, question unasked. 

She reads him like she always does. "I want to."

"But--"

"Stop it, Dean. I just -- I've done stuff, okay, but never hung around enough to do this and this year I was too focused on getting into --"

She cuts herself off and he goes cold for a second, the harsh reminder of why this is probably happening at all right in his face again. 

"Right," replies Dean, swallowing hard. "If you're sure."

Sam nods emphatically. "So fucking sure."

Dean pulls his wallet out from the back of his jeans and along with it the condom tucked there. 

He places it next to her head and then ducks back down again. "You're coming more than once tonight," he promises and gets back to work. If there's one thing he doesn't do is short change orgasms. Doesn't really understand the guys who do. And this is _Sam_ ; he's gonna make her fall apart, gonna give her everything she should have, so she knows what it should always be like. 

She comes on his tongue after a minute or two of Dean finding his rhythm and he watches her the entire time she shakes apart. Then he crawls up her body and finger fucks her while they kiss and the Impala shakes beneath them. She comes again on his hand, while he whispers against her neck. Things like "got you Sammy, got you baby, c'mon on, come for me."

Sam's bathed in sweat, face red and hair matted by the time she's come again. She stares up at him in awe as he shoves his jeans down just enough to roll on the condom. 

"Ready for me?"

"Dear god," she whispers, and pulls him in close with shaky hands. Dean slides in slowly, watching her face as she bites her lip and tenses around him. 

"Easy, Sammy. You're good." 

Sam nods, breathes deep, and he slides in some more. She's the tightest thing he's ever felt and Dean thinks he might die if he doesn't come but he's not about to shoot off in three seconds like some amateur. 

He pulls himself together, gathers her up in his arms and loses himself in her scent, the feel of her hands on his neck, the puff of her breath against his throat as she kisses him, trembling. 

“You okay?” Dean asks when he's flush with her hips, balls heavy and brushing against the denim of his jeans. 

“Yeah,” Sam whispers, nosing along his throat. “Yes.” 

He takes a steadying breath, pressing kisses along her jaw. "Ready?" 

"Oh my god, just fuck me already,” Sam groans, startling a laugh out of him. 

Dean pulls back just enough to look at her. “Alright. Let’s do this.” He starts to move and Sam gasps, moving with him. They find a rhythm quickly. He wouldn't expect anything else; he and Sammy always seemed to be the most in sync. 

It's no different now and pretty soon he's kissing her hard, stealing her breath as she pushes up to meet every thrust. His baby groans beneath them, rocks along with their combined weight. 

They stare at one another, moving in tune. Dean slips his hand between them, rubs at Sam's clit, determined to make her come again. 

"Oh god, oh god Dean it's so -- I can't--"

"You can," he whispers, biting down her neck, sucking at her breast. "Come on baby. Come for me again, Sammy."

"Oh shit," Sam gasps as he rubs at her faster and fucks her harder. "There, right there, Dean, almost--"

He snaps his hips up and thumbs her clit until she falls to pieces, shouting her orgasm into the night air. 

"Holy shit," Dean gasps as Sam spasms around him. "Gonna. Oh god, _Sam_."

"Yes, yes," Sam chants weakly as Dean spills, coming harder than he can remember. He pulls in lungfuls of air, blinks the sweat out of his eyes. When he can focus again he sees Sam, panting beneath him and completely fucked out. 

"Not bad, huh?" Dean deadpans, grinning weakly. 

"Jesus Christ," Sam murmurs and Dean takes her lack of witty comeback as a complete and utter win. He pulls out slowly but Sam still makes a soft sound. He ties off the condom and throws it into Sam's empty coffee cup and then chucks it onto the grass. 

Dean looks back at Sam, half naked on the hood of his car and has no idea what he's supposed to do. 

"You uh, I got a blanket..." He jerks his head toward the car. 

Sam nods, eyes unfocused. "Okay."

He hops off the hood and tucks himself back in, walking on unsteady legs to the backseat and pulling out the blanket. 

When he comes back Sam's mostly covered herself up. Dean throws the blanket around her shoulders and sits beside her again. He lights a cigarette and offers her a drag, not expecting her to take him up on it and surprised when she does. They share one cigarette together, then another. Sam's pulled the blanket over them both, their shoulders brushing, hands tangling with every pass of the cig. 

Somewhere along the way they begin making out lazily under the stars and it's comfortable, like they've been doing this together and have no need to be all over one another. When Sam bends down to nuzzle his crotch, Dean thinks about stopping her but she just looks up at him with those puppy eyes and says, "Let me blow you.” Dean never claimed to be a man of strong wills. 

It's sloppy and wet and completely inexpert. It's the best goddamn blowjob of his life. 

After, Dean pulls Sam into his lap and licks the taste of himself out of her mouth while fingering her pussy and making her come for the fourth time that night. 

"We better get going if I'm gonna catch the last bus," Sam eventually says when they're back to just staring up at the stars again, temples pressed together. 

It's like glass shattering and he can't believe he let himself forget what this night was about to begin with. 

"Right, yeah. Let's go." Dean climbs off the hood and wills himself to breathe normally. 

The twenty-five minute drive is devoid of sound aside from the Zeppelin coming from the tape deck. Because, Dean figures, if there was ever a time to get the Led out it was after having incesteous sex with your 18-year old sister before sending her off to college and after your dad told her to not bother coming back. 

Sam’s actually humming along quietly to The Rain Song; it warms his heart, his favorite person in the whole world singing his favorite song. And he’s driving her to a fuckin’ bus depot so she can leave him. 

Dean feels like a zombie by the time he gets out of the car, grabbing her duffle from the backseat while she stands on the passenger side, waiting for him, bouncing from one foot to the other. 

“Here,” Dean says quietly, handing her the bag. Their fingers brush as she takes it and it’s like lightning through his body. Suddenly they’re back on the hood and he’s moving inside her and she’s tight, so tight around him. 

“Jesus christ,” he rasps, before tugging her in by the small of her back and crashing their lips together. 

Sam moans into his mouth immediately, the duffle dropping from her slack grip, her hands coming to clutch at his shoulders, the back of his neck. 

They can do this here, can kiss like lovers parting for war, no one to judge, no one the wiser. It would be so easy to scoop her up, go to California, make a life together. 

Except it really wouldn’t be. 

The kiss slows to something less frantic, more searching, their tongues brushing again and again as he coaxes soft whimpers from Sam and she holds him tighter than ever. 

“Dean,” Sam gasps as they part, their foreheads touching, mouths open and breathing hard. “Dean,” she repeats, before hugging him tight. 

“Come with me,” Sam whispers into the curve of his neck. “C’mon, we’ll just get in your car right now and go, Dean.” 

He sucks in a hard breath, arms curving tight around her, before letting Sam go.

He takes a step back, tries not to look at her swollen lips, her tousled hair. “Get outta here, kiddo.” 

He knocks his thumb against her chin as she watches him with sad, resigned eyes. She isn’t stupid, knows he deliberately chose that word, knows he’s trying to pull them back from the brink of this. From this fantasy of forgetting who and what they are to one another. Of thinking they can just become something else. 

Sam knows he can’t leave Dad, can’t leave this life. She just forgot, apparently. A momentarily lapse.

He watches her nod, watches her eyes harden. “Bye, Dean.” 

She doesn’t say she’ll call and Dean can’t bring himself to ask her to. 

He feels the sense memory of her body against his all the way back to the house. Dad’s in the armchair with a nearly empty bottle of Jack when he walks in. Dean can’t meet his eyes. 

“She gone?” he asks, voice devoid of any emotion. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, walking into his room. “Yeah, she’s gone.”  
______________________________

_ii. Tonight my baby and me  
We’re gonna ride to the sea And wash these sins from our hands_

It’s over a year before Dean talks to his sister again, but he’s “seen her” from afar three times before then, during hunts in California. One time, they didn’t even have to be there; Dad just decided to take the “scenic route” on the way to Washington. Dad had tracked down Sam’s housing situation to “check in” on her. Dean had to stop himself from calling her (assuming she still had the same pre-paid cell phone anyway) to say “Told you so.” 

He thinks about that night every fucking day. He’s been with women since then, yet nothing has compared, nothing has come even close. It’s not even the sex. Well, alright, it’s partly the sex. But it’s everything else that went with it, too. It’s the feeling like they were two halves of one whole and in that moment they were joined and everything was as it was supposed to be. 

He’d never say any of this shit to Sam, but he also can’t help missing her like part of his own soul. 

It’s his second December without Sam and maybe they were never big on Christmas (even though Dean always loved it and Sam always blew it off after that one memorable yet formative year) but he can’t help thinking about her even more this time of year. It’s how he finds himself driving in the direction of Palo Alto after wasting a slew of ghosts in Nevada. 

He doesn’t even know if Sam will be at the place she was staying the last time they checked in on her. Or if her classes are done for the semester. But he drives anyway, pulls up outside a row of apartments. There are a lot of college kids going in and out. It’s after 8; he has no idea if Sam’s out partying or home studying. Maybe she’s got some on-campus work study job. In a library or something, surrounded by books. Research was always her thing. He’d have literally drag her away sometimes. 

Dean’s lost in his own thoughts, imagining this whole life for his sister, one he doesn’t feature in whatsoever, and never notices there’s someone there until there’s a rap on the passenger side window. 

It’s Sam, with a “Seriously?” expression on her face that he missed so much. She’s rolling her eyes at him and his chest is trying not to cave in on itself. 

He’s gotta lean over to roll down the window. 

“Maybe don’t pull up in the hottest car this neighborhood has seen if you’re trying to be inconspicuous. My roommate is so jealous that I know you.” 

“S’cause of my dashing good looks,” Dean says, heart pounding in his ears. 

Sam rolls her eyes again. “She didn’t even see you, jerk.” 

“Bitch,” he says, grinning, feeling like something has loosened within him. Like maybe they can do this without remembering the feel of one another’s skin. 

Fuck. 

Sam swallows, like maybe she’s remembering too. Like maybe this can’t be as simple as falling back into old banter. 

“You uh, got a gig in the area?” 

She’s grown her hair out even longer since the last time he was able to check in on her, and now she twirls it absently around one finger like she always did when nervous about something. She’s wearing sweats and a tank top, grey hoodie hanging open. He thinks it says Stanford across the chest. 

She looks perfect. 

“Nah, booty call in the area,” he says, unthinkingly, because it’s the type of humor he’d normally pull out, except -- 

\-- except, given the last time they interacted, Sam could technically _be_ that booty call and Dean is horrified with himself. 

“I didn’t, I mean --” 

Sam’s eyes, which had widened slightly, grow a little fond. “Just shut up, man, and open the door.” 

Dean does. 

“Don’t you got exams to study for, egghead?” he asks, turning the ignition. 

“Finished my last midterm yesterday,” Sam says, sounding proud. “Where we goin’?” 

“You know the area, Genius, you tell me.” 

Dean’s surprised when Sam directs them to a bridge about 30 minute out from the University. They park the car off to the side of the highway on some dead patches of grass and head up to Dumbarton Bridge, apparently. 

There’s a sectioned off area for foot traffic/bicyclists but it's still weird when cars go zooming by alongside them. The car ride was mostly silent aside from the music from Dean’s tape deck, but he feels like he should probably say something now. 

“You come here a lot?” he asks as Sam props herself up on the rail and dangles her long legs over the side. 

“Yeah, sometimes. It relaxes me, as weird as that sounds.” 

He thinks about Sam needing to be relaxed, if she’s dating someone, if they give her neck massages when she’s stressed. 

Dean used to, randomly, until Sam started pulling away from him -- looking uncomfortable -- when she was like, 15. It was around the time she’d started looking at him a little too long, come to think of it. 

They’re silent for a while. “No cigarettes?” she finally says, looking down at his hands that are tapping restlessly against his thighs. 

“Nah, quit a few months back.” 

“Hmmm.” 

Dean looks up at the sky, frowning. “City drowns out any stars there might be.” 

Sam hums. “Haven’t done much stargazing since I’ve been in California.” Then she looks at him, a little pointedly. 

Dean desperately wants that to be a double entendre and hates himself for it. 

“That’s a shame.” 

After a too long pause Sam says, “We can go. If you’re sticking around for a few hours.”

“Sure,” replies Dean, as casual as he possibly can if only to match Sam’s own tone. 

It’s a bad idea. He has no idea how to even act around Sammy anymore. She hasn’t asked about Dad, isn’t trying to figure out what’s really going on here. She’s just… nonchalant. Like Dean’s some stranger. 

“Alright.” 

They drive to the ocean, some place called Gray Whale Cove, about 90 minutes from where they were. Dean can’t remember the last time he’s seen the water, isn't sure he's ever seen the Pacific. It's a long 90 minutes, filled with idle small talk about nothing consequential. The drive along Highway 101 as they get closer to the water is pretty gorgeous and Dean wishes there were some daylight so he could enjoy it more. 

Sam tells him where to park and they walk out to a stretch of beach beige them. It’s mild here for December, but still a little cool out by the water. The wind has picked up slightly as they walk out onto the sand, the two of them mostly silent about everything that matters. 

Dean can’t take it anymore. 

“You could have called,” he says when they pick a spot to sit, nothing but the twinkling sky overhead and the low crash of waves in front of them. 

“I couldn’t,” Sam says immediately, like she was expecting the statement. 

Dean turns to her, eyebrow raised. “Might’ve had a few phones since then, but I still kept that one.” 

Sam’s shaking her head before he’s even finished talking. “I -- no. I just. Couldn’t. Okay? Couldn’t hear your voice.” 

Dean looks away, biting his lip. Sometimes, since she’s left, he’s felt like he was alone in this. Like maybe it was so easy for Sam to walk away, even after... 

He’s beginning to revise that assessment. 

“Been weird. Without you,” Dean says, because she’s given him something here and he’s gotta give some back, even if it’s a complete understatement. 

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” says Sam, smile in her voice. “Got no one to do your research for ya.” 

“Or tell me to stop bitching and hold still while they clean my wounds.” 

“Or watch terrible Made-for-TV movies in motel rooms while you pretend you don’t love them.” 

“Shut up, I do not.” 

“Lifetime movies are your jam, Dean, don’t even front.” 

“Better than soap operas.” 

“That was one summer!” 

“It was a travesty, Sammy. I was ashamed to be related to you.” 

Sam pauses at that, mouth open on a retort. “Yeah, well,” she says instead and suddenly it's gone from easy to awkward in the span of a second. 

Dean thinks back to the last thing he said and is suddenly, blindingly, furious. 

“The fuck, Sam. I _am_ your brother, you know. You not talking to me for over a year doesn’t change that.” 

‘I kno--” 

“And _I_ wouldn’t want to change that,” Dean says, standing abruptly and turning on his heel, kicking up sand as he does. “Not for anything in the world would I change you being my little sister,” he says, some of his anger residing as he looks down at her sadly, before walking briskly up to the car. 

“Dean. Dean, come on, man…” Sam calls, trailing behind him. She doesn’t try to touch him, just jogs up to catch him. 

They come to a stop in front of the car and she reaches out, her fingers soft against his wrist. 

“Family is everything,” Dean whispers, his back to her. 

Sam doesn’t say anything. He didn’t really expect her to. 

“Dean…” she finally says, her fingers curving around his wrist. 

He turns and there’s so much in her eyes, a replay of that night on his car all over again. 

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Sammy,” he says, throwing his arms up in the air and letting out a hollow laugh. 

“No one does,” Sam whispers, and then she’s closing the distance between them for a second time and Dean is just as lost to this as he was back then. 

“God, I missed you,” he whispers against her mouth, licking between her lips. 

Sam moans exactly the same way he remembered, the sound etched in his memory. 

“Dean,” she gasps, and no one ever sounds like that. Like Sam. 

“Drive me so fuckin’ crazy, in every single way.” He bites the words into her mouth and then down the column of her neck. Her laughter trails off into another too-perfect moan. 

She walks him back to the car and it's weird, her being as tall as him now. He had a feeling she’d shoot up fast, just like she did halfway through high school. It’s kind of perfect, the way they fit together. He drags his hands down her chest, cupping her breasts. Sam lets out a low whine and grinds against the hard length of his dick. 

He moves his hands down her stomach, curving over her hips and onto her ass, squeezing. 

“Fuck,” Sam gasps, head thrown back. They’re against the front passenger side door now, and Dean can’t even remember how they got there. 

“Backseat, c’mon baby,” Dean whispers, tangling his fingers in Sam’s hair and dragging his hand through it. 

Sam giggles against his neck. “Uh-huh. Bet you say that to all the girls.” 

Dean gives her a dazzling, shit eating grin and waggles his eyebrows. 

Sam rolls her eyes. “Gettin’ the patent Dean Winchester experience, am I?” 

He leans in, drags their mouths together in a tease. “No. No, you’re getting the real deal, Sammy.” 

Her eyes flash before she drags him in again. “It’s Sam,” she whispers and then kisses him so hard he can hardly breathe. 

They manage to get inside, Dean sliding back onto the leather, Sam crawling over him. 

“Condom, glove box.” 

“Bossy,” Sam mutters, but leans over to get it anyway. He takes the opportunity to drag his hand up her thigh, the soft cotton of her sweatpants giving way to hard muscle underneath. 

He moves his hand to her pussy, palm pressed flat and watches her gasp loudly, bite her lip, and nearly drop the condom. 

“Asshole,” she says when she’s upright again. 

“You love it,” he grins. 

“Mmm,” she hums, noncommittally, and tosses the condom onto his chest before getting to work on his jeans. 

After that it’s a blur of hands and mouths. Sam leaning forward to kiss him, her hair falling in his face as she works him out of his jeans and boxers, his hands squeezing her tits and reaching under her shirt and bra to roll her nipples between his fingers. 

“Oh, god,” Sam gasps, grinding her pussy against his thigh and rocking back and forth against his hands on her tits. “God, I need you.”  
Her mouth is hot and wet against his neck, his throat, his jaw, and Dean doesn’t know how he’s keeping it together while she strokes him so tight, so perfectly. 

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “C’mon, baby, get these off.” He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of her sweats, the tip of one finding her underwear and dipping beneath, rubbing at smooth, hot skin. 

Together they ease off her pants and underwear and when she’s seated on him again, completely naked from the waist down, Dean can’t help but drag her hips forward and get his mouth exactly where he wants it. Sam tastes as good as he remembered and she rides his face the way he’s gonna have her ride his cock in a few minutes. But first -- 

First he’s going savor the way her thighs quiver and shake under his palms, the way she’s moaning so loud above him and grabbing his head, holding him there as his tongue laps at her clit. 

“I’m -- oh my god, your mouth, I--”

Dean pulls back as much he can, gasps for breath against her inner thigh, stroking her everywhere he can reach. “I got you, baby. Come on my tongue, c’mon.” 

Sam laughs above him and it's a breathless, gorgeous sound. “You’re so dumb, oh my god. _Dean_ ,” she breaks off in a cry as he starts back in tenfold, giving her everything he’s got. He feels the muscles in her thighs tighten and laps up everything she gives him, never wanting anything else but this, just this. 

He eases her backward and she drops down on his torso, his dick still standing tall and proud and looking ridiculous trapped around his jeans and boxers. 

Sam looks down at him with wide-eyed wonder, the same way she did the first time he did this to her, and he ponders how many others have since, if she’s ever had it as good as he knows he can give it to her. 

Something must show on his face because she swats at him weakly. “Don’t get cocky now.” 

Dean’s grin just grows wider. “Oh, I’ll get cocky, alright,” he says, lewdly grasping the base of his dick and wiggling his junk. 

“Oh my god, you’re incorrigible.” 

He snorts, runs his hands up and down her perfect legs. “Don’t set me up so good, then. And stop using big words, I was supposed to blow your mind just now.” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Sam says, but she’s smirking and blushing even further beneath her already flushed cheeks and he knows then that he totally did. 

“You wanna…” he asks trailing off, and okay, he made her get the condom but he probably shouldn’t have just assumed they were definitely doing that again. No matter how bad he hopes they are. 

But Sam just rolls her eyes some more and says, “Obviously,” like fucking your brother in the backseat of his car is a normal, everyday thing. 

She tears open the condom and rolls it on him and she’s so sopping wet and ridiculously tight when she lowers herself down. It’s easier than the first time, yet just as amazing. Dean pushes her shirt and bra up so they’re resting over the curve of her breasts and squeezes hard, watches her bite down on her lip and begin to bounce on his dick. She’s a vision, bathed in shadow, hair falling down along her shoulders, pink mouth open on a gasp with every roll of her hips. Dean lets her run the show, touches her nipples, her clavicles, the sides of her throat just to see how his hands fit up and around her. 

She says his name like a mantra, like it’s the only word she ever did or will know and when she comes again the car rocks with the force of her orgasm. Dean grabs hold of her hips and pushes up hard, fucks into her hot, tight heat and screams her name, head thrown back against the fogged up glass and sweat pouring off his body. 

Sam falls forward as he continues to ride out the wave, her muscles still contracting around him. 

“Jesus christ,” he breathes, wrapping a weak arm around the small of her back. 

“I’ll say.” 

Then they’re both laughing and there’s no way this should feel like this, this perfect, this easy. Dean’s quiet, head spinning, and Sam shifts on him, causing him to slip out. She catches the condom and tosses it out the window behind her. 

“Gross,” he says, without any real bite. 

Sam just laughs when he pulls her down again. 

“Is cuddling part of the Patent Dean Winchester experience or the Real Dean Winchester experience?” she asks after a beat, idly stroking his chest. 

Dean hums, pretending to think about it. “Real. A recent addition.”

Maybe it’s a little too honest, maybe it breaks the spell, because Sam goes a little tense and Dean suddenly can’t stop thinking about the world beyond these four doors. 

“You heading out tonight?” she finally asks, like he knew she would. 

“Yeah. Um. Meeting up with Dad in Santa Fe.” 

“And what’s in Santa Fe,” Sam asks, voice flat and full of disdain. Dean is acutely reminded just _why_ this isn’t easy, aside from the whole banging your sister thing. 

“Apparent coyote attacks but Dad isn’t convinced.” 

“Of course he isn’t. Because that’s not a thing that can, and does, happen in Santa Fe.” 

“Jesus Christ Sam, don’t,” Dean says disgustedly, sitting up and jostling her into motion as well.

“When are you gonna stop following his every move, _Dean_ ,” Sam huffs and pulls down her shirt, bending to find her underwear and pants. 

So much for the afterglow. 

“When are you gonna start respecting your father, _Sam_?” 

“He lost my respect when he decided hunting was more important than raising his children.” 

Dean can’t keep doing this; it’s never gonna end any differently. 

“Look, I’ve gotta get a move on if I wanna make good time.” 

Sam looks over her shoulder as she pulls up her pants. “Yeah. Sure you do.” 

She gets out of the car, slamming the back door before opening the front and slamming that too. 

“Easy!” Dean yells, but he slams both doors himself. 

He takes a steadying breath before starting the car. “It’s not like I can just stick around, you know. You’ve got a -- a life here. You gonna explain your big brother crashing on your couch to your landlord or RA or whatever the fuck you have?” 

Sam shakes her head but it's not in response, just barely controlled anger. “You won’t even try.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut and sees spots when he opens them again. “I can’t, alright? He needs me. I owe him that much.” 

Sam shakes her head again and stares down at her hands. “You don’t owe him anything, Dean. He owes you.” 

Her words echo in his head the entire drive back, which is luckily only 45 minutes back to where she lives. When Dean parks in front of Sam’s place he has no idea what to do. He wants to kiss her, hold her, not let her walk away from him again. Except this time it really feels like he’s the one doing the walking. 

“I better go,” Sam says, voice low. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, clearing his throat. “You take care of yourself, Sammy. Get good grades. Stay outta trouble.” 

Sam snorts, and there’s that head shake again. This time it seems to say, ‘you’re pathetic, you know that?’ 

“Goodbye, Dean.” 

Her eyes are sad when she meets his one last time. She doesn’t try to kiss him and he doesn’t watch her go. 

He doesn't head to Santa Fe. Instead, he drives back out up to Gray Whale Cove and finishes watching the stars. 

It’s nearly two years before he sees her again.  
______________________________

_iii. And your arm felt nice wrapped ‘round my shoulder_

Dean doesn’t know how he didn’t anticipate Sam living someone. And not just someone, another woman. He’d scoped out Sam’s new place before breaking in (which, in and of itself was ridiculous but after the fraught way they left things last time he didn’t really want to take any chances of her not listening to what he had to say) and still had no idea to expect this. 

So yeah, the girl who exits the bedroom as he’s sizing up his sister, taking in how she somehow seems even taller, a little broader, than two years ago, is -- a shock, for sure. 

Dean falls into horndog mode, because it’s the only defense mechanism he has to finding Sam with someone. He vaguely knew Sam wasn’t totally straight, based on blush worthy conversations they had when she was 16, but he had no idea she’d acted on those desires. In fact, he tried not to think about Sam with anyone at all, man or woman, because -- well, just because. 

The way Sam wraps her arm around Jessica, looks down at her like she’s the greatest thing since sliced bread, makes Dean’s chest hurt. And it’s not even jealousy but the flash of memory of Sam looking at him exactly like that, so many times before, and Dean just -- didn’t get it. Or maybe didn’t want to get it. 

_Sam’s in love._

_Sam was in love with him._

He takes a step back, gets his wits together, repeats that Dad’s on a hunting trip and hasn’t been home in a few days, and watches in satisfaction as Sam tells Jessica they need to be alone. 

It’s completely selfish, having Sam with him again. He knows that and doesn’t care. Loves every moment of it. He can barely take his eyes off her as they sit next to each other in the diner to do the interview. Their thighs are touching and there’s no good reason for that to happen, but it does anyway, like they’re magnets that can’t help but attract. 

They fall into old banter quick and easy and it feels thrilling, _vital_ , Sam working a hunt with him. It wasn’t just the two of them very often, but when the times it was always the best of Dean’s life, despite how maddening Sam could be. 

He doesn’t want it to end, is the thing. Has gotten a taste and just can’t let her go again. Even when she brings up Mom and gets him so mad that he pushes her back against the bridge. Even when she tells him this isn’t her life anymore. Even when she says, “Yes, you can,” after he confesses he can’t do it alone and then counters with the too honest, too vulnerable, too out-of-character, “Yeah, well, I don’t want to.” 

Dean gives it one last when he's dropping her back off. His arm stretched out along the seat of the Impala, calling out to the vision that is his sister. 

“You know, we made a hell of a team back there.” 

It’s his Springsteen moment. Mom loved The Boss and Dad would play him a lot when they were kids. Dean stopped listening when he realized all it did was get him sad, but on the drive up he found himself pulling out the cassettes he swiped from Dad of Born to Run and Darkness on the Edge of Town. He hid those ones so Sam couldn’t find them when she was riffling through his stuff. 

So yeah, this is it. The moment he asks Sammy to climb in, in so many words. That it’s a town full of losers and he’s pullin’ outta here to win. But the rest of the words stick in his throat and all Sam says is, “Yeah,” and smiles a little wistfully at him. 

Dean has to escape after that, leave before she turns away from him one more time. He doesn’t go far; circles the block a few times, finds a 7-11 and buys a pack of cigarettes. He smokes three in a five minutes after not touching any for more than two years. Something feels wrong, a hollow, burnt out feeling in his stomach. He finds himself driving down Sam’s block again and his heart stops when he sees the smoke. It takes him a second to get his paralyzed body to move before he’s racing up to the apartment and carrying his baby sister out of yet another fire. 

After they watch the fire department, ambulance and police arrive; after Sam pulls her numb body up, drags her dead eyes away from the last place she'd ever see Jessica; after Sam tells Dean they’ve got work to do it’s just the two of them, back in the car, except everything has changed and nothing will ever be the same. 

Dean gives it an hour of Sam slumped down in the passages seat, sniffling quietly, before tentatively reaching over to wrap his arm around her shoulder, squeezing a little. It reminds him of the night before she left for Stanford, only ten times more vulnerable. 

Sam freezes beneath his touch. "I can't -- Dean. Us, I can't --"

Dean pulls his arm away like he can still feel the heat from the apartment, eyes widening. 

"Fuck’s sake, Samantha, I'm not putting the _moves_ on you. What kind of a douche do you --"

"Sorry," she says quickly, "I'm sorry. I know, I'm just. Jesus, I don't even know, man."

She sounds so goddamn lost and it breaks his heart. Dean brushes a piece of hair off her forehead like he used to when she was a kid, every maternal instinct he's ever had coming out, because let's face it he was always the mom Sam never had. Always tried to be, even if she couldn't or wouldn't see it. 

"Just stop thinking, alright? Just breathe."

"Yeah," she mumbles, "breathe."

He switches tapes and Sam doesn't even complain about his choice of music. It feels weird, when just a few hours ago she couldn't stop. 

He'd wanted Sam back in his car so bad when he dropped her off earlier, had fantasized about pulling away and seeing her run out into the street in the rearview, yelling his name. He thought he would've given anything to have that, but not this. Never this. Not some innocent woman's life while his sister sits next to him, hollowed-out and broken. 

Life was a cruel son of a bitch. 

Sam's so quiet that Dean’s thinking -- hoping -- she's actually asleep, until she starts talking quietly. 

"You know...sometimes I'd feel like I was cheating on her, like maybe I really was unfaithful to her, because of how I felt about you."

Dean holds his breath. 

"She wasn't stupid, she knew there was someone before I met her. But she still snuck her way inside. And I never stopped -- feeling how I feel... about... about you... even when me and Jess..."

Dean's eyes are burning and he focuses on the road instead of the watery sounds coming from Sam. 

"I loved her, I _love_ her. But maybe I deserved this," she whispers and Dean sees red. 

"Shut up, Sam. You just shut up." He grips the wheel tighter. "You don't deserve this and neither did she. So you just quit that fool shit right now, ya hear?"

Sam snorts but her voice sounds less watery at least when she says, "You sound like Dad."

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta."

Sam reaches over and puts her hand over his on the steering wheel. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean nods, but it doesn't seem like enough. Nothing seems like enough. 

"Your feelings," he says, clearing his throat. "You're not alone in those. I just -- I'm not expecting anything or asking for anything. I just need you to know that. In case it wasn't... clear."

When Sam doesn't say anything for a good minute Dean musters up the nerve to glance over. 

She's looking at him with that mix of fond amusement and exasperation that only she can pull off, even with tear tracks on her face. "I know. You've got a pretty terrible poker face, Dean."

Dean scowls but can't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up. 

"Well, good,” he says gruffly. “S'long as we're clear on that."

Sam sighs and sinks lower in the seat before opting to lean over and put her head on his shoulder. Dean stiffens under the weight, momentarily surprised, before relaxing into it. 

"Our timing’s always been shit, huh?" Sam asks, like she's not really expecting an answer. 

Dean gives her one anyway. 

"Maybe one day it won't be."

He doesn't expect her to stay forever, can hardly imagine a future of Sam by his side till death do they part, no matter how right it sounds in theory. But he's willing to take what he can get right now. 

When Sam whispers, "Maybe," and burrows in even closer, the word sounds like hope. 

[the end, or the beginning]


End file.
